


On The Loose

by SmartKIN



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (not between Stiles and Peter), Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Assassin Peter Hale, Assassin Stiles Stilinski, Cis Female Peter Hale, Cis Female Stiles Stilinski, College Student Stiles, F/F, Female Peter Hale, Female Stiles Stilinski, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Motorcycles, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 04:11:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8431357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmartKIN/pseuds/SmartKIN
Summary: Stiles has a job to do; Hot Lady Sniper almost ruins it for her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Migrating my fic from tumblr.
> 
> You can [read this on tumblr](http://lloydoholic.tumblr.com/post/112212286439/warnings-implied-rape-and-underage-rape-not), too; I posted it a year ago for the first-ever Fem Stiles Week that bxdcubes/nezstorm and I organized.

Her job is clear—shoot the best man before the high-profile wedding reception is over. It’s not a difficult concept, really, and knowing the pervy history of the guy will make it easy to lure him away from his duties for a couple of minutes. Or well, forever.

Her client has been very generous so far, the money is definitely good on this one. Not that Stiles is swayed by something as mundane as the right amount of zeros—she has a code, okay? She would never be able to sit down across from her dad and watch him grimace at another veggie burger if she killed _good_ people for a living.

But raping his way through school girls and too-young-looking college girls without repercussions is definitely not ‘good’. No one has been able to pin it on the dude, even if victims keep piling up. But, well, “they asked for it", didn’t they?

She swallows down her disgust and checks her gun one more time.

It’s almost time to get going, she can’t afford to get lost in her head right now.

It should be easy, too, because she’s definitely dressed for the part. Not that she went out of her way to look all innocent and young, she dresses that way naturally—bright red jacket over a short skirt and batman hoodie, tights, and flats that have cat ears sewn on—the only thing that’s actually dress-up is that she's wearing her hair in two pointy pigtails.

She doesn’t dwell on how much she’s actually the guy’s type, hides her gun in her pocket, shoulders her cute little backpack and crosses the street to the building in which the wedding reception is already in full swing.

Before she gets very far, however, something else catches her eye: A woman walking past her in the opposite direction, dressed to kill (maybe even literally, considering the dark sports bag slung over her shoulder), heading right for the building that faces the one Stiles is targeting.

Their gazes lock for just a brief second before the woman is past her, and that’s all it takes for her curiosity the overrule her brain.

She keeps walking until she can be sure that the stranger won’t react to her sudden change of course and then whirls around on her heels.

The woman is gone.

Probably inside the building already.

Soft-footed, Stiles trailers after her, carefully making as little noise as possible.

Her search leads her up to the roof—where else, she thinks sarcastically—where the woman is already busy setting up a sniper rifle.

_Wow, Stilinski, good instincts right there_ , she praises herself and remains in the shadows and just watches for a few moments.

The woman is admittedly gorgeous—long dark hair, falling down to her waist, forest green v-neck sweater hugging her curves and black skinny jeans leading into sensible yet elegant boots; she’s a vision, certainly. That the lady knows how to handle a rifle is an added bonus in Stiles’ book, makes her even hotter in fact.

The only thing that’s really ruining it for her, however, is that she’s playing in Stiles’ sandbox.

Bleeding out of the shadows in a way she’s learned from watching cheap TV-shows, she ambles a little closer.

“Excuse me–” is all she’s able to say before Hot Sniper Lady whirls on her, gun at the ready.

Stiles holds up her hands in mock surrender.

“You’re kinda interfering with my job, here,” she concludes.

The woman’s gaze turns dark and intense, a predator having focused on her prey.

“ _Your_ job,” the woman purrs quietly, quizzically, sending instant heat rushing through Stiles’ body.

God, could she be any more perfect?

“Well, see,” she offers, “I’m getting paid to take out the best man and I really need the cash. You know, tuition fees and also food; eating’s very important. So I’d rather you didn’t screw it up for me.”

The woman lowers her gun but keeps staring at her in that disconcerting way and it makes her wanna squirm, only she doesn’t, ‘cause she’s an experienced assassin, too, and she’s got her pride.

“Don’t worry,” the woman says and suddenly flashes a predatory grin at her—all perfect teeth and dark red lipstick. “I’m here for the groom—there’s no reason why both of us shouldn’t get what we want tonight.”

Now Stiles _does_ squirm, because _ho boy_ , innuendo much?

“You’ll have to give me a head-start then,” is all she says, getting to her knees and pulling her laptop out of her backpack. “Before you send them scattering.”

The woman inclines her head and watches her with faint amusement shining in her eyes.

Time for Plan B then, Stiles thinks, as she hacks the security system and sends a message to her target. He’ll think there is something wrong with the catering he’s ordered, and will have to make sure everything is alright.

The catering service that's currently getting things ready three floors below the reception.

“Tick tock,” the woman says and now it’s Stiles’ turn to grin.

“It’ll only take a couple of minutes,” she promises and already races off the roof.

She doesn’t encounter another living soul on her way down and across the street. It’s late enough that it’s already dark so she doesn’t even try to be inconspicuous.

She takes the back entrance where she will have the easiest access to the catering and then she’s jogging up the stairs, where faint, singular steps already clue her in that her plan has worked. (Thank you, Danny, for your hacking lessons!)

There is the sound of a door slamming shut, and silence.

The best man has reached the catering staff.

He’ll figure out that nothing’s wrong soon enough.

She’ll just have to be ready when he comes back out.

And she is.

When he sees her he pauses almost despite himself and she smiles shyly at him.

“Excuse me,” she says, and stops a step below him, looking up at him through her lashes (giving him the feeling of power, of having an advantage over her).

“Yes,” he drawls, his gaze sweeping over her in a way that almost makes her feel sick, if not for the fact that she’ll end him soon.

“Well, it’s a little embarrassing,” she hedges, and tugs on her skirt and fake-nervously brushes her bags out of her eyes. “My uncle’s a guest at the reception, and I should be staying at his place, but he forgot to give me his keys…”

The guy takes a step down towards her, arm sneaking around her to put a guiding hand at her lower back.

“I’m sure we can figure something out,” he says, his pupils growing wider, and he guides her upstairs, probably not anywhere near the reception but rather someplace quiet, where he can have a bout of fun before returning to his duties.

And she lets him, lets him lead her somewhere it’ll be easy to hide the body, and sure enough he’s opening the door to the floor just below the party, holding open the door like a gentleman for her to step through first and she gives him the satisfaction with another shy, grateful smile.

And she can feel the heady rush of power as she fingers the gun in the large pocket of her jacket and eventually takes it out, screwing on the silencer she’s kept in her other pocket—leading the man deeper and deeper into the maze of corridors and rooms, dark and deserted now, the man following behind her.

“And you’ll bring me to my uncle?” she says to mask any sounds of her gun, “I don’t want to interrupt the party.”

He chuckles lightly.

“There’s a nice waiting area up ahead, let’s settle you in before I go get your uncle,” he tells her. “Next door to your right.”

“Sounds good,” she says and follows his instructions, opens the door and walks into the dark, quiet room. For a moment she can’t see anything but darkness, and she turns around as the guy steps in behind her.

She won’t give him time to switch on the lights, will take him down when he’s still blinded too–

Suddenly there’s a loud crash somewhere else in the building, the sound of breaking glass, and, a moment later, screams.

The guy whirls around but Stiles doesn’t give him the chance to escape, she pulls him further into the room and aims her gun at him.

Pulls the trigger-

Once-

Twice-

And he gasps, no voice left in his throat to complain, before he crashes to the floor.

Stiles doesn’t lose any time, snaps a photo as proof and steps over his dead body, unscrewing her silencer and stuffing both parts of her weapon into her backpack, then she’s already jogging down the hall and eventually down the staircase.

Hot Sniper Lady should have given her one more minute, she thinks, and hopes she can make a clean getaway. But it won’t be hard, she’ll be long gone when the police arrives.

What a tragic event. Groom and best man killed in one night.

She smirks.

Fresh air hits her flushed cheeks when she steps outside.

She loves the rush that follows a job well done and can’t wait to receive her fee.

She makes it out of the alleyway just as a motorcycle grinds to a halt in front of her.

In the saddle sits Hot Lady Sniper.

“Hop on,” the woman tells her with a smirk and Stiles’ mouth goes dry.

Maybe she'll  _really_ get everything she wants tonight, she thinks and clambers onto the motorcycle behind the woman.

“Your place or mine,” she asks cheekily and wraps herself tightly around that hot, hot body.

“College dorms aren’t my style,” the older woman shoots back sarcastically and kicks the bike off the curb.

Stiles has a feeling she’s severely underestimating what she’s getting herself into.

Oh boy.


End file.
